


Accidental Pregnancy AU

by lixabiz



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Accidental Pregnancy, Alternate Universe - Human, Baby!Fic, F/M, Friends to Lovers, One Night Stand
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:12:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lixabiz/pseuds/lixabiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of related one-shots. AU where a one-night-stand between friends leads to accidental pregnancy. Previously posted under 'The One Where Lixabiz Takes Prompts', the first three chapters are older works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The One Where Rose Is Pregnant

_Rose woke up with a dry feeling in her mouth and a vague inkling that something brilliant had happened - but perhaps only in a dream._

_Then she rolled over and knew otherwise._

_"Typical," he whispered, eyes bright in the darkness, still half-drunk, still bloody gorgeous, "I wake up in bed with Rose Tyler and I can’t remember a thing."_

_"Me neither," she replied._

_She couldn’t remember anything after giddily dragging him out of the club and into a taxi. They’d made out in the back of it and she remembered dropping her keys multiple times while trying to let them into her flat because he kept sucking on her neck._

_He inched closer. “You okay?”_

_"Yeah."_

_What were they going to do? Act like this had never happened? Go back to being friends? Maybe it was for the best they couldn’t remember, then. Let all of it fade away into a blur, a moment of madness._

_"S’not fair," he said, staring at her mouth. "We should do it again."_

_"What?"_

_"We already did it once. We should do it again. I want to know."_

_Know what, she wondered, but quick as lightning he closed the gap between them and kissed her, kissed her until she couldn’t think._

 

He picked up on the second ring. “Hullo?”

"I’m late," said Rose.

"What? We haven’t got plans to meet today, have we?" He looked at his watch, puzzled.

"No," she said, tersely, "I’m _late_.”

 

* * *

 

Rose opened her door and said, “Did you get it?”

Feeling as though he were living in a bizarre sort of dream come to life, he lifted the Boots bag and said, “Of course.”

She grabbed it and went into the living room, dumping the contents onto the carpet in a frenzied rush. She glared at him. “You bought crisps!? And what’s all this bloody Lucozade for!?”

He rubbed his neck, sheepish. All at once the jangly nerves he’d shoved away in order to face her came storming back again, permeating every cell of his body. “C’mon, Rose - what’s it look like, a bloke walking into a shop and buying nothing but a pregnancy test?”

The look she gave him was one that screamed _don’t mess_. He picked up the test - neatly encased in a cardboard box - and handed it politely to her.

"Okay," she said, still seething and ripping the cardboard apart with a forcefulness that made him flinch, "I’ll- I’ll go to the loo."

"Right."

He waited by the door, pacing, studying the colour of the paint on her walls, and the dust bunny that was collecting in one corner. The tick-tock of the clock behind him drove him mental. She was taking ages.

"Rose," he called out, careful to keep his voice calm and neutral, "Everything alright?"

"No!"

"What-" His heart began to race. "Is- Are you-"

"No!" She sounded extremely cross. "I don’t know yet! I haven’t finished taking the test!"

He stared at the wood grain of the door, perplexed. “Do you need the box for instructions?”

She made a derisive noise, and threw something at the door. It made a loud clang. He retreated, withdrawing to the corner for safety in case the molecules of the door suddenly became permeable since this was clearly a dream, and not reality.

"I can’t wee with you out there," she shouted, flustered. "Go away!"

"Go _where_?”

"I dunno!"

He racked his brain for something to offer, some way to keep himself from being kicked out. “Well… why don’t you try… thinking about rivers, lakes, waterfalls? You know the sort of thing.”

"That’s not helpful!"

He ran back into the living room and seized the bottle of lucozade. “I know! Drink this! Fill up your bladder!”

The door opened just enough to allow Rose’s arm to shoot out and snatch the bottle from his grip. It shut firmly again in his face.

 

* * *

 

He held his breath (among other things, Rose had taken so long in the loo he was starting to burst) as she emerged, hands shaking. She tossed the test onto the table and clenched her fists.

Positive. It was positive. He felt faint.

"I’m pregnant," she said, voice rising to a terrifyingly high, hysterical pitch, "I’m bloody pregnant!" She punched him in the arm, hard, her chest heaving with rage. "You just couldn’t leave well enough alone! You- you had to seduce me again! _Twice!”_

Except he’d used a condom that second time, the awesome time, the time he remembered, so chances were it’d been round number one that had done the deed. But Rose didn’t seem like she was in the mood for rational deduction so he kept his mouth shut, cringed, and felt the Universe cackling at him.

"I’m pregnant! Oh my god. Oh my GOD. We’re not even together! You’ve made me _pregnant_ and I’m not even your _girlfriend!_ " This last bit was fairly screamed at him, which made him recoil instinctively.

He didn’t do well with jump scares. They made him react before he could think; it was reflex, it was, just reflex, and so he blurted out, “Do you want to be?”

Wrong thing to ask. She threw the nearest thing she could reach at him. It happened to be a lamp - he narrowly dodged as it crashed to the floor.

Okay. That would be a no, then.

 

* * *

 

"You’re keeping the baby?"

She nodded.

Relief surged through him, he hadn’t known he’d been hoping for this, had told himself: _it’s her decision_ for the last two weeks of silence. Now he knew that he wanted this baby, wanted to be a dad, prams and diapers and 2AM feedings and potty training and all. He wanted a family. Uncertainty filled him at the thought. Rose might be keeping the baby, but she might not want to keep _him_.

"Can I… can I help you?"

"You’d better," she said, looking at him intently. Those eyes of her would be the death of him. "Listen. I was… pretty upset last time. I blamed you for this, but… obviously it took the both of us for it to happen. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things you don’t want to. We can work things out with the baby and still be friends."

"Right. Yeah, course."

_Friends_ , he thought, feeling a wave of panic hit him, properly, for the first time. _Friends who are having a baby together._

Rose looked like she might cry. He thought he understood the feeling.

He said, with as much confidence as he could muster, “It’ll be alright. You’ll see. We can do this, you and me. We’re in this together.”

 

* * *

 

The first trimester was a roller coaster. Rose had told her mum the truth about a week after she’d declared her intention to keep the baby. Jackie appeared on John’s doorstep the next morning to slap him upside the head, and made him promise to take care of Rose and the baby, or _else_. He wasn’t sure what the ‘else’ entailed, but he wasn’t going to find out.

It was bloody uncomfortable, pregnancy, when one viewed it up close.

The guilt was immense, he’d done this to her, but so was the secret satisfaction of being the one she came to when she wanted to rant and whinge about how much morning sickness sucked and how she was putting on weight and felt bloated already. He set himself as number one on her speed dial and was over everyday to rub her ankles, even though they weren’t sore _yet_ \- but he said he was practicing for later and she seemed to like it.

She was back to being typical Rose, albeit perhaps a touch more prone to violent mood swings than before. Still. She was Rose, who liked his jokes and tendency to ramble and who always made him feel welcome in their circle of friends. Rose, who he had been nursing hopes towards for years, who had always been taken by some other lucky sod before he even realised he’d been too slow to act. That night at the club had been the first time she’d been single in ages. He’d taken advantage of the liquid courage, had used up a lifetime’s worth of luck in one go, to get a single night with Rose.

But the universe liked it’s jokes, and clearly enjoyed screwing with him, and so here they were: pregnant, in limbo, forever tied to one another, though not in the ways he’d imagined or hoped.

 

* * *

 

"When the baby comes," he said, screwing up the courage one afternoon, as he massaged her left foot, "I could… I could move in here. To help you. With feeding it and all. You know, in the middle of the night."

He glanced at her. She was looking at him, pensive. His heart sank, inch by inch, into the pit of his stomach. “Is that not okay?”

She shook her head and pulled her foot free of his grip, away from him. The sofa suddenly seemed awfully long, allowing her to produce a gaping distance between them.

"I don’t know. It’s still early. I’m not even showing yet."

That’s what he got for being greedy. Rose was allowing him to stay in her life. He shouldn’t have pushed his luck.

Still, he wanted her to know. That he was serious about this, that he was in for the long haul. “I want to be there for the baby. For you.”

"I know."

He didn’t understand the conflicting emotions that passed over her face, like rapid storm clouds.

She sighed at long last, and said, “We’ll see. When the baby comes.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’ll be there, you know.”

She rested her head on his shoulder. “I know.”


	2. The One With Zorro

Zorro swirled into view in front of her, the bottom of his cape whacking her in the leg. She blinked up at him from her seated position on the sofa and said, matter-of-fact, “Your mask’s crooked.”

He straightened it hurriedly and thrust the cup he was holding into her hands. She sniffed it and took a cautious sip. Orange juice. She looked up again and he was gone, into the depths of the party, cape swirling.

 

* * *

She wasn’t speaking to him at the moment.

Last week they’d driven out to the IKEA to look for furniture for the baby’s nursery. He asked her if she didn’t want something nicer, perhaps, but she replied firmly that IKEA was what she could afford and so that was that. He hadn’t argued.

On the way home, she found something in his jacket pocket whilst rummaging for his keys. A little blue box, made of velvet, with the unmistakable logo pressed onto the cover. It had a ring inside it, of course.

Her first - sickening - thought was, _when could he have time to see another woman? He’s always with me._

Her second thought, just as terrifying, though perhaps less of a punch to the solar plexus, was, _he’s going to ask me to marry him because of the baby._

The row that followed had been blistering, ending with Rose in angry tears and John frustrated and upset. She told him to go away, and so he had, though clearly he wanted to stay and argue his case some more.

It wasn’t good for the baby, Rose told herself over and over after he’d gone, willing herself to calm down and eat and sleep at her regular hours. That hadn’t been easy. The cardboard boxes containing the baby’s crib, changing station and dresser were piled in the corner, making Rose choke up every time she glanced that way.

Six months in, she had all sorts of sores and aches, and usually he massaged her for hours every night while they watched telly. She had to go without, which made it even harder to get confortable enough to sleep. The baby had just started moving, as well, light fluttery kicks that made her heart flip each time. Once she let him put his hand on her belly and the look on his face was one she’d never forget.

Going to her mum for advice didn’t help, either.

"What’s wrong with that? He ought to want to marry you! He got you in this state after all!"

"Mum! He’s just offering because of the baby!"

"So? Good for him. Don’t look at me like that. I’m not saying you should say yes - that’s up to you, sweetheart, if you don’t want to marry him, then don’t. But it’s a good sign, isn’t it? That he’s serious about being a father? He wants to give the baby a proper family."

Maybe so, but it was a poor excuse for marriage. Jackie pointed out that loads of people got married because of unplanned pregnancy and that didn’t always mean the couple was unhappy in the end. People got married for worse reasons all the time. Rose needed to have some faith.

"I’m not marrying him," Rose said stubbornly, refusing to acknowledge aloud what she suspected her mum already knew, and what she herself was afraid of admitting to.

 

* * *

 

Jack was wearing a pirate costume paired with  the most garish feathered mask ever created. He swaggered about his living room asking people to PAHR-LEH in the most atrocious english accent Rose had ever heard. She was pretty sure he’d never seen Pirates of the Carribean and had just wanted to be a sexy pirate for the evening. Themed parties were his favourite, and though she really hadn’t felt like coming tonight, she also hadn’t felt like sitting at home, feeling dreadful and bloated and pregnant and alone.

Her costume was just a big black shift dress, a  maternity gown she’d purchased from the charity shop, and a handmade mask Martha had made for her, decorated with tiny paper roses.

"Zorro told me to bring you this," said Doctor Jones, swishing onto the scene, holding a tray aloft. "Folic acid tablets and a glass of milk."

Rose accepted both, swallowing the tablets and chasing them down with a big gulp.

"Still fighting?"

Did everyone know?

Martha sat down next to her and nudged her in the shoulder, sympathy on her face. Rose had been jealous of her when they’d first met. She was a resident at the hospital where he worked, bright and beautiful and put-together, and it had been obvious from the get-go that Martha admired him. Rose had thought surely they would begin dating, surely he would fancy someone like Martha, but it had never happened. And then she’d got pregnant and somehow Martha had become a good friend, someone knowledgeable who she could go to for medical advice as well as friendly support and encouragement.

Tonight she seemed to be acting as a go-between, whether on her own volition or under his direction, Rose didn’t know.

"Whatever he did, he’s sorry."

Rose didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t a matter of apology or wrongdoing, but of a difference of opinion. A monumental one, in fact. He wanted to marry her because he felt it was his duty. Rose did not want to be a burden, something to shackle him to a life he didn’t really want.

"I know," she said, for lack of anything else to say.

Martha smiled, her bedazzled cat-eye mask catching the dim light light. She was wearing a diaphanous blue ball gown, and had a sparkly star tipped magic wand in the other. Cinderella’s Godmother? Or Glinda the Good Witch?

"How are you feeling?"

"Good," Rose lied. She was tired and sore.

"Hmm," said Martha, tapping her wand in her palm. She was looking at the dark circles under Rose’s eyes. "Do you want to go lie down in the bedroom for a bit?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the hem of a cape disappear around a doorframe. Zorro was avoiding her. Sudden melancholy overwhelmed her, so Rose nodded and allowed Martha to lead her away.

 

* * *

 

Rose was more tired than she’d realised. Jack’s bed smelled weird, but Martha assured her it was clean. She fell asleep promptly, waking up with a jolt when the doorknob was jiggled and turned. Someone or something banged against the door, made an ‘oof!’, and an angry voice, familiar, shouted ‘Oi! Get out! She’s resting in there!” followed by another, soft thump. There was silence after that.

 

* * *

 

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," said a very tipsy sing-song voice, "Or I’m going to kiiiiisssss youuuuuu!"

She opened her eyes, disoriented. Captain Jack, still in his pirate garb but shirtless now, leered down at her.

"Ugh," she said.

"Nice," he snorted.

"Your guard’s waiting, he refused to come in and wake you himself."

"Oh," she said, swallowing thickly, and staring at the ceiling.

Jack cocked his head. “I’ll tell him to give you a few minutes, shall I?”

 

* * *

 

A few minutes turned into a few hours, and by then even the most hardy of Jack’s guests were partied out and/or passed out on various surfaces in the house.

Martha stood on the stairwell landing and shook her head at the black-clad form sitting with his back to the door of Jack’s bedroom. His cape was waddled up under him and his mask on the floor, legs bent uncomfortably in the narrow hallway, head in his arms. Sad Zorro seemed determined not to move, and the equally sad mother-to-be inside the room he was guarding seemed just as determined to stay put.

Time for this Fairy Godmother - _not_ the Tooth Fairy, thankyouverymuch - to wave her wand and work some magic. She pulled out her mobile and sent out a carefully worded text.

Several seconds later, the door was yanked open, and poor Zorro, caught unaware, fell backwards into the room with a yelp.

Rose cried, “What’s the matter?”

He looked up, slightly dazed from hitting his head on the floor. “I fell.”

"Are you hurt?"

"No, no, don’t bend, I’ll-" he groaned and climbed to his feet, rubbing the side of his head. He spread his arms- "Here, look, I’m fine."

Rose gave her mobile a dirty look.

He peered at her, carefully asked, “Are you alright?”

"Yeah," she said.

Even more carefully, “Are you still angry?”

She considered it for a moment.

"“No. I’m not," she said finally, chewing the inside of her lip and playing with the frayed edge of one sleeve. He brightened.

 

* * *

 

He took her home, saw the circled date on the calendar stuck to the fridge with a magnet, and asked quietly if it was okay if he drove her to the Doctor’s appointment in the morning. “I can wait outside, if you want.”

"That would be good," Rose said, "And you don’t have to wait outside."

She’d been miserable the entire time he’d been missing from her life and knew she had to stop pretending it was anyone’s fault but her own. Her mum was right. He was just being a good person, and she was punishing him for it. Just because she felt…. a certain way, in regards to their relationship, that didn’t mean she got to be angry at him for not feeling the same. That was unfair.

"I’m sorry. I overreacted. I saw the ring and…" she trailed off, unsure of how to make amends.

"No, I’m sorry," he said quickly, "It’s my fault. You’ve got every right to be upset. I just keep mucking things up, don’t I?" He sighed, and raked his hand through his hair. The mask from earlier was gone, his cape wrinkled. He looked exhausted, days of concern and weariness lending lines to his face.

Guilt surged through Rose. She opened her mouth to speak but he wasn’t finished.

"It’s not true, though. What you said."

"What?"

"It’s not because of-" his hands clenched themselves, and he nodded at her belly- "Because of the baby. I’ve always… well. I’ve always thought… someday. With you."

Her voice was strangled, barely above a whisper. “What?”

"When the time was right. When you weren’t dating someone else." He paused and swallowed, gathering courage. The baby kicked as if in approval, cheering her father on with prenatal gymnastics. "S’not how I imagined it. Us. And I don’t know how to fix it."

"What do you mean? Fix it? Fix what?"

"You’ll never believe me, now, will you?" He looked despondent. The sadness on his face struck a visceral, painful pang that reverberated through her. His voice was dull. "You’re always going to think it’s because of the baby. It doesn’t matter what I do, or say, does it?"

A sort of odd lightness passed through Rose, and for a moment she thought, _oh no, I’m going to faint_. But an arm suddenly came around her - two arms, strong ones - and offered support. She looked up at him and was glad he’d lost the mask. His eyes were fixed on hers, kind and warm. She realised something, then… something unbelievable and heart-stopping and mad.

_He’s telling the truth._

"Do you still want to marry me?"

His eyes grew wide and the hands on her waist flexed, gripped her a little tighter.

"More than anything in the world."

She said, with a deep breath, “Ask me again.”


	3. The One With All The Hormones

“Have you _lost your mind_?” he demanded, as soon as she stepped off the train, even as his heart lurched at the sight of her.

Immediately he regretted his choice of first words.

Rose’s expression went stiff - as did her shoulders - and she said, coolly, “Hello to you, too.”

He hadn’t been able to breathe, not properly, until now. Not since he’d come back to his cousin’s house several hours ago and found he had twenty missed calls from Rose on his mobile. When the call finally connected, her fuzzy voice had told him over the line that she was arriving in Edinburgh on the next train, and would he come to meet her at the station?

He’d been absolutely livid.

Now, relief coursed through him, but so still did anger. “I can’t believe you took a five hour train to Scotland _by yourself_! Rose, what were you thinking? What if something happened?”

“I’m pregnant,” she retorted, glaring back at him, “Not useless.”

“It’s dangerous in your condition!”

“Stop shouting.”

“I’m not shouting.”

“Like hell you aren’t!”

Donna, who was standing behind him, stepped forward to break the tension.

“Hi, Rose? I’m Donna. Nice to meet you. Why don’t we head home? You must be tired.” She threw him a meaningful look. “Come on. Fight in the car, if you must.”

Rose shook Donna’s hand and allowed herself to be led to the car park just outside. Silently he followed, holding his tongue until they were on the road again.

“I’m just - _upset_ \- that you had so little regard for your own safety-”

“Oh, give us a break!” she snapped, scowling. “I’m perfectly fine! It might be dangerous for pregnant women to fly but it’s perfectly safe to take a train, you nutter. In fact, it’s very comfortable. I even rang my doctor’s office and asked, they said loads of women do it and even enjoy it cos’ the rhythmic motion is soothing.”

He shut his mouth, still fuming, but unable to come up with a retort. He’d also noticed the strain on Rose’s face - she had bags under her eyes, and her shoulders sagged noticeably, which meant she was exhausted despite her bluster. So he let it rest for the time being.

Even so… a small, carefully restrained part of him was secretly, wholeheartedly glad that she was here.

When they arrived at his Uncle’s empty house, Donna pulled him aside and said, “Hey. Don’t be too hard on her. She must have missed you to come all this way.”

He found that somewhat difficult to believe, even with the evidence of her presence before him. They’d not parted on… good terms. He and Rose had had a sort of row, he supposed. Well, perhaps a better description would be to call it a ‘difference of opinion and wants and needs’.

The short of it was: he wanted, she didn’t, they were going through an extremely rough patch because of it.

 

* * *

 

The incident began on a night like any other. He’d come over to keep her company. They still had their own respective flats, a source of contention between them that he had learned to carefully avoid. Rose still wasn’t wearing his ring. She’d accepted it but with a caveat: they weren’t going to just get married right away. She needed time to think about it thoroughly, and in the meanwhile they could try being in a relationship for a bit. To see if they fit together.

 _We fit together just fine_ , he’d wanted to say. _I remember exactly how well you fit._

She’d gone to take a shower and had forgot her robe, so he’d fetched it, getting an eyeful of soft, creamy skin. He’d tried not to stare but it hadn’t been easy.That had been awkward but innocent enough, and he’d followed her back to her bedroom to help her get ready for bed.

She’d sighed, hands resting on her belly, on the baby, as he carefully ran his own hands through her hair, running a hot stream of air over the soft, silk strands.

"Feels really nice," Rose had murmured, a little smile of content on her upturned face. It would take so little effort to bend and touch his lips to hers. He could gently ease her back onto the bed, kissing her all the while, and undo that terry cloth tie again. She’d be so soft and sweet and he could see down the gap of the robe from this angle, the enticing plunge of cleavage beckoning to him-

 _Stop it,_ he’d chastised himself, shaking off the fantasy with vehemence. _She’s pregnant and only just starting to accept you, don’t fuck this up._

Another flash of heat went through him, but he’d ignored it and turned off the hairdryer, forcing a cheerful tone, “All done!”

"Thanks," said Rose again, giving him another contented smile. He’d wanted to kiss her so badly. She’d waddled forward then - there wasn’t really any other word for it, and she’d probably be offended if he’d voiced the description aloud - which was really damn adorable. He bit back a grin, just as she made a face.

"Floor’s wet," she’d grumbled.

"Careful," he’d said, coming up behind her to offer support in case she slipped.

Rose had stumbled back, then, colliding directly with him. Like an untried schoolboy, the feeling of her generous and pert bottom pressing against the front of his trousers had made him react in a very, very, typical manner. He’d been riding high on the tension for weeks now, nearly fit to burst, thinking about that one night over and over and berating himself.

Gasping at the contact - of course she’d felt his reaction - Rose had jerked away from him as though he were suddenly made of hot lava. She’d stumbled again, overbalancing as she was prone to do these days. He’d steadied her with an arm around her waist, turning her towards him, belly to belly, only to find that her robe had come loose again.

He was a bloke, so - of course he’d looked. _Of course he had._

She’d noticed that, too, and went red as she shoved at his chest, pushing him away. He couldn’t bear to remember the appalled look on her face. Nor could he forget the stilted horror in her voice as she’d accused, wide-eyed, “But you helped me in the bath- all those times- were you always-“

He’d stammered, searching for excuses without success - and was saved by the harsh, distracting buzz of his mobile.

 

* * *

 

Uncle Wilf’s pending heart surgery had been the bad news. He’d been summoned to Scotland. Of course there’d was no question of Rose joining him in her condition.

Before he’d gone to bed that same horrible night, he’d sent her a text, telling her he’d be back as soon as he could, and that he’d call her when he arrived in Edinburgh to check on her and the baby.

Her reply had been a short and succinct ‘OK’, leaving him in no doubt of her disgust with him.

And yet, here she was. Had she missed him? Enough to travel to Scotland on her own?

He didn’t know what to think.

 

* * *

 

Finally, when she had been fed and pampered and tucked into bed by his cousin, he broached the subject.

"Look," he said, deciding an apology was the best way forward, "I’m sorry about what happened."

"Are you?" she asked.

"It was my fault. It’s been a while since… well, you know."

He shrugged, trying to play it casual. No need to let her know he was in constant turmoil over the slow progress of their relationship. He’d come to understand one thing: he had to avoid coming on too strong. He didn’t want to scare her off - she was skittish, understandably so. If he wanted to win her over, he had to do it slowly, carefully.

"I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again."

He’d keep his distance and make sure of it. At the very least, he’d hide it to the best of his ability.

A weird look fluttered over her face, one that confused him. She was silent, lying propped up against the pillows of the bed in the guest room, in _his_ guest bed. There was room for two in it - a tight squeeze, perhaps - but he had already resigned himself to sleeping on the floor. It wasn’t as though he’d expected to get any proper rest on this trip, anyway, what was another night of bad sleep?

Carefully, gauging her reaction, he asked, “Is that okay? Are we- okay?”

She said, slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

"Good. You ready to tell me why now?"

“Why what?”

“Why you came here.” She didn’t respond. “Well?”

Rose looked down at the quilt, fingers tugging at the stitching on the hem. “Dunno.”

“Rose. Come on.”

“I dunno,” she repeated stubbornly.

He sighed. “Okay. That’s fine. You’re tired. We’ll discuss it in the morning.”

"Fine."

He grabbed an extra quilt from the closet, tossed it on the floor, and trod over to the light switch by the door. A flick of his hand plunged the room into darkness. Blindly returning to the spot in the corner, he lay down on the lumpy quilt and wished he’d thought to find an extra pillow.

“You’re sleeping on the floor?”

Her voice came from the bed, muffled.

"Where else would I sleep?"

There was a pause. “But it’s cold. There’s a draft. I felt it.”

"I’ll manage."

"You’ll get a crick in your neck, lying on the floor."

"I won’t."

"Your back’s gonna hurt in the morning."

"It’s _fine_.”

He heard rustling, the sound of the covers being pulled away, and then the soft thump of feet hitting the ground. Sitting up, he asked, “Why are you getting out of bed?”

The sounds of movement stopped. “I think you shouldn’t sleep on the floor.”

"Rose, stop worrying about me and just go to sleep."

Even in the dark, he could sense her deliberation, knew she was sitting there chewing her lip - her mind working on the best way to drive him crazy. She was getting damn good at it lately. Even now he was acutely aware of her presence just a mere three feet away from him - the faint scent of her perfume, the cadence of her breathing audible in the dark silence of the room.

"You should come over here and sleep in the bed," she said at last.

"You’re sleeping in the bed," he replied, shoving his hand into his hair in frustration. "Rose, seriously-"

"With me," she clarified, stunning him. "We can share."

What?

His breath caught in his throat. “You want to sleep in the same bed?”

"Yeah. S’not fair, to you. This is your guest bed. I’m stealing it."

"It’s fine, Rose."

"No, it’s not."

"There isn’t enough room."

"There is. We can fit. You just have to… spoon me."

"Spoon you," he repeated, faintly. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. "You want me to… spoon you."

There was a note of determination in her voice. “Yes.”

"That’s a terrible idea." The words came out before he could think them through properly.

"Oh."

Fuck. She sounded hurt.

"I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant… well, you know why. It’s… difficult for me. I won’t be able to control myself… in that situation. Being that close to you." _Because of how I feel about you. Because you’re carrying my baby. Because there’s nothing I want more._

He heard her shift again, on the bed.

"S’okay," she said, in such a small voice he almost didn’t hear her.

"What?"

"I don’t mind." She spoke louder. "If it happens, I mean. I’m okay."

Frustration made him curt. “That’s nice, but I’m not. I won’t be okay.” He’d be miserable. What was she thinking? “I’ll pass. Thanks.”

She gave up after that and retreated into silence, until at last they both managed to fall into an uneasy, tension-filled sleep.

 

* * *

 

Rose spent the week mainly in Donna’s company, joining them on several visits to the hospital to meet Uncle Wilf post-op. The sight of her rounded stomach had cheered the poor fellow immensely and he’d gone so far as to tell her she was speeding up his recovery just by being there.

Now they sat in a compartment together, watching the scenery roll by as the train sped from Edinburgh back to London.

He was tired of the tension, and tired of not speaking. It was also obvious to him that she was uncomfortable. Her ankles were probably sore - they hadn’t been massaged in over a week. That used to be his job. He looked forward to it. He missed it. Missed touching her, missed spending time with her.

It was his own fault, for letting his randy inclinations destroy what closeness they’d managed to cultivate.

"You okay?" he asked, when she shifted in her seat across from him for the hundredth time, trying to find a comfortable position.

"I’m sore," she admitted, wincing. "I’m getting a cramp in my leg, I think."

"Here," he said, reaching down to lift her limb into his lap - she reacted with startlement, pulling away from his grasp.

He felt his stomach turn to lead.

"I’m only going to massage your leg," he said dully, pushing the heart-break away for later. Now he couldn’t even touch her without making her feel like he was a lecher, out to cop any cheap feel. "Just your leg."

She blushed, hotly, inexplicably. “Okay.”

Gingerly, he pulled her foot onto his knee, making sure there was only the minimum of physical contact necessary. Her muscles were so tight he wasn’t surprised she was in pain. The fact that she’d not complained until now made his jaw clench - he could have helped earlier, made it better before it got this bad.

The guilt and anxiety and irritation of the past week and a half built to a head inside his chest and it wouldn’t stay down. He felt like bursting. Something had to give, so he let the words come out of his mouth without filtering them as he usually would.

"I know it makes you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that. It’s just- you’re- you." He focused on her calf as he spoke, massaging it thoroughly. It was easier than looking at her face and seeing the rejection there. "I fancy you and you’re carrying my unborn child and I only got to see you naked that _one_ night, so forgive me if I react like a randy twelve-year-old at the sight of your breasts!”

Rose’s mouth fell open.

"Sorry."

 _Fuck._ Why had he said all that? Terror and panic filled him as he let go of her, cursing himself - he was an idiot, _the world’s biggest idiot, bloody fucking hell_ -

"No," she said, faintly, reaching out to touch his hand, stopping him. "Don’t apologize."

He met her gaze, heart lurching.

"Is that true?"

"What?" he asked.

She just looked at him, with those big clear eyes of hers, that way she always did, trying to look past his skin into his soul. She was always trying to dig deeper, trying to find something he’d been offering to her since day one. It wasn’t hidden. His heart was on his sleeve - she just never thought to look there.

"You- you still fancy me?"

"I always have. Always." He searched her face, willing her to understand. "Why is that so hard for you to believe?"

"I do believe you. No, really, I do… why do you think I came?" She cleared her throat, as a hint of pink tinged her cheeks. A ridiculous hope burgeoned in his chest. "Chased you all the way to Scotland?"

"Why did you?"

"Because! We had a- a misunderstanding, and you just _ran off_.”

"I was going to come back!"

"I know. _Still._ You can’t just disappear and expect me to sit at home waiting for you! What happens when we have a row after the baby’s born? One of us just walks out?” Her lip trembled. “I- I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to watch you walk away.”

"I would never walk out on you, or our baby," he said, stunned.

He lowered her leg to the ground and slid into the seat beside her, cupping her face with both hands. Her cheeks were satiny soft under his palms, the curve of each vulnerable and sweet at the same time. “Rose. Believe me. I’m never going away.”

Her chin dipped, the barest of nods. “Just get scared, sometimes. Everything happened so fast. I still can’t wrap my head around it, that I’m really pregnant. Sometimes it feels like a dream, y’know? Like I’m going to wake up any minute and none of this is real… and you’re not… with me anymore.”

"That’s never going to happen. You’re never getting rid of me. I’m like gum on the bottom of your shoe. Stuck to you forever."

That got him a little smile. “You sure about that? I’m the one who had to come all the way to Scotland and after all that you slept on the floor and a couch for a week.”

The teasing note in her voice made his heart skip a beat. He looked at her, curiously. “You said we had a misunderstanding. What did you mean?”

She ducked her head, seeming to suddenly go shy. “Dunno… just…”

He let go of her face to take her hand, letting his fingers intertwine with hers, perched lightly on her abdomen. The vibration of the train hummed in his ears, a loud background noise that very nearly drowned out her next reply.

"Just… didn’t want you to think I don’t want you. Like that. Cos’ I do."

"What?"

She was definitely coming over shy, but she met his gaze without hesitation and said, “I’m pregnant. My hormones are crazy. And you’re fit. And you’re always touching me, s’not strange, really, is it-“

"Seriously?"

Another nod. His mouth went dry.

"Yeah. If you still want me."

"I most certainly do!"

"Yeah? Even though… I’m…" her voice trailed off, and he felt her hand tighten over his, over her protruding stomach. "I’m so… pregnant?"

"Does it matter?" he asked, seriously. "It doesn’t bother me. At all. But if it bothers you, I won’t-"

"You actually want to, though?" She seemed to be having difficulty understanding the concept. "You really, really want to?"

"Absolutely," he said, shifting his head, bending it towards her, towards the warm heat of her mouth. He pressed his lips to hers, and groaned as she instantly reciprocated, moving against him, opening to let his tongue sweep inside to taste her.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded when he pulled back, nipping at her lower lip. He felt like shouting to the heavens: _Rose Tyler kissed me! Rose Tyler wants me!_

"You really do," she said, with wonder.

"I really, really, really do," he agreed.

"That’s good," she said. The train hit a curve and jostled them together, pressing parts of her against him that had him groaning. Her eyes darted up to his, wide, a hot blush spreading over her cheeks. "Oh!"

"Can’t help it," he said, wrapping his arms around her, keeping her close. "Can’t we?"

"What?" she squeaked, "Here?"

"There’s the floor."

She looked scandalised. “Are you mad? We can’t do this on the floor of a train! I’m pregnant!”

"I meant for me," he said.

"Eh?"

He slid to his knees.

That was his problem: he was always pushing his luck. But sometimes luck was on his side.

Or maybe it was just pregnancy hormones.


	4. The One Where He Stays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Birthday fic for allegoricalrose on tumblr!

“Some women have sex all through their pregnancy. It’s not strange at all, just a combination of chemicals and hormones making your sex drive go through the roof.”

“Yeah?” Rose was dubious. “But the other women in my prenatal class…”

“Everyone’s different, love.” Martha Jones smirked slightly, losing her professional demeanor. “Lucky John.”

“Not really,” Rose grumbled.

An inquiring look entered her friend’s eye. “Problem?”

“No,“ she replied quickly.

Martha seemed unconvinced, but didn’t press the issue.

 

* * *

 

“He’s not pressuring you, is he?”

Jackie Tyler wouldn’t know the meaning of the word ‘subtle’ if it smacked her in the face. She looked at Rose pointedly over the array of maternity magazines she’d purchased for their visit, and raised a meaningful brow. The article headline leapt out at them - _SAUCY SEX AT 36 WEEKS?_ \- making Rose cringe.

“No,” she replied, flustered and appalled, "He wouldn’t!”

“Good. Do you want him to?”

Rose went red, and blamed it the unseasonably humid weather and the fact that she’d walked the four blocks to her mum’s in the middle of the day.

“Ah.” Jackie smirked, in a very un-Mum-like way. “You do, then.”

“Even if I did,” said Rose, with great dignity, “We can’t. Not in my state.”

“What’s wrong with your state?”

“I’m eight months pregnant!”

“So? When I was pregnant with you, your father constantly wanted to-”

Rose covered her ears, and sputtered, “Mum!”

“I didn’t mind at all-”

“Mum!”

“It doesn’t hurt the baby if you’re careful. Look at you, you’re perfectly-”

“Oh my god! Stop!”

Jackie laughed, enjoying herself. “Sweetheart, it’s perfectly natural.” Her expression softened at the chagrin on Rose’s face. “What is it, love? Oh, spill. You can tell me anything. Haven’t you two… did your OB say no?”

“No, Mum.”

“Does himself not want to, then?” She tsked, looking askance at her daughter. “Some men are prudes about this sort of thing.”

That was absolutely not the problem, thought Rose, ignoring Jackie’s inquisitive coaxing. The problem wasn’t that _at all_.

 

* * *

 

Scotland and trains felt like a lifetime ago.

The truth was it hadn’t been very nice. Some of it, yes, some of it had been downright lovely, but other parts, other perhaps more important parts, those parts had been filled with awkward fumbling and uncomfortable maneuvering and a lot of frustration and pain and guilt. More guilt than pain, really, but the end result was the same.

They hadn’t tried again.

The memory hung between them like an impenetrable wall, too rife with uncertainty to be overcome.

And all the meanwhile, frustration gnawed at Rose, making life nearly unbearable.

 

* * *

 

“S'pose I’ll be off, then,” he said.

The ending credits on the film they’d watched together in silence had come to an end as well, and there really was no reason to linger. No reason whatsoever.

“See you tomorrow?” He spoke casually, not quite looking at her as he pointed the remote at the telly and turned it off.

Rose opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat. All she managed was a lacklustre and  unenthusiastic, “Okay.”

He hesitated before leaning over to kiss her chastely on the cheek. Just as she thought he would pull away, he bent his head instead and kissed the top of her stomach, as fast as lightning. So fast she barely felt it, just a brief burst of warmth against the cotton of her loose-fitting tunic.

Then he was on his feet, rubbing the back of his rapidly reddening neck- “Goodnight!” he chirped, the picture of embarrassment. He was out the door before Rose could say the same.

She rubbed her belly, and sighed. One step forward, two steps back. They could never get it right, could they?

 

* * *

 

A week passed, and then two, in the same awkward fashion, only with one marked difference: he got busy rather suddenly, and was working late more than ever. He rung her every day and sounded exhausted, which made her feel guilty, which made her snappish, which made their conversations stilted and awkward.

“Rose? Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’m fine. I was just…“

_I was just calling to hear your voice._

No, she couldn’t possibly say that to him, not aloud.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said.

“Oh.” He paused. “You usually don’t ring me up in the middle of the day.”

“You’re busy.”

“No, no,” he said hastily.

“Is it a bad time?”

“No, it’s not, really it isn’t-”

In the background she heard a voice say his name.

"Sorry,” she said, “You’re busy, it’s nothing-”

“Rose, wait-” but she’d already hung up.

He showed up that evening, looking tired, his hair messy and standing on end from having fingers run through it all day as he worked. His shirt was untucked and wrinkled, the sleeves rolled up appealingly to his elbows. The tie he always wore was loose around his neck, which made her think of that one time he’d left it on her bedroom floor - the same night that had landed them in this mess in the first place.

Something old and familiar tightened deep in her belly, in a spot that had nothing to do with the baby putting weight on her bladder and making her need to use the loo about sixty times a day.

He caught her looking. Rose tensed and turned away, cursing herself and her stupid hormones.

“Rose, we should-” he began, but she cut him off before he could finish.

 

* * *

 

Her due date loomed, and then crept up, closer and closer. Mum kept a packed bag by the door - _just in case_ \- as eager to meet her first grandchild as Rose was to give birth.

She was tired of being pregnant and was more than ready for the baby to make her entrance. Everything was in place. They were as prepared as they’d ever be. The flat was bursting - there was barely enough room to move. Every inch of it was crammed full of things for the baby’s arrival - a crib in the corner, baby guards half-installed on all the furniture, toys and clothing and nappies and books everywhere.

The date came and went, and… nothing.

Jackie continued to offer up increasingly outlandish solutions to induce labour - and Rose tried it all. Spicy food, long walks, bumpy car rides… still, nothing.

Eventually she had to waddle her way over to the practitioner’s office for the appointment she hadn’t thought she’d need to keep. The drive there was tension-laden.

The OB took one look at her chart and said, “Hmm.”

“Not even a flutter,” John said tightly. “We’ve tried everything.”

“Well,” said the OB, with the air of someone who had absolutely nothing left up her white sleeve, “Worse case scenario, we’ll induce labour if nothing happens by the time you hit week 42. In the meanwhile, there’s one more thing you could try.”

“What?” asked Rose, eager for _anything_ at this point.

 

* * *

 

They drove home in silence.

“We need to talk about it, Rose,“ he said, at last. "We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

She stiffened. That was rich, coming from him. He was the one who didn’t have the time, the one who was burying himself in work to avoid her. It wasn’t supposed to come out of her mouth, not quite so accusingly, nor at all. But she was a slave to her roiling emotions these days, and the words burst forth, unstoppable.

Incredulously, he asked, “You think I’m avoiding you?”

What else was she supposed to think?

They’d had sex.

They’d _tried_ to have sex, rather.

It had gone wrong in the worst possible way, and they’d spent every minute since tiptoeing around the subject and each other.

He’d suddenly become busy.

It wasn’t rocket science.

"Rose. I wasn’t avoiding you.” He looked flabbergasted. “Why on earth would I?”

She stared mulishly at the floor, and shrugged.

“I was doing my colleague a favour, because I want her to do me one in return.” Taking her by the hand, he led her to the nearest chair and knelt on the floor beside her, clasping both her hands in his own. “I’m going to take a leave of absence when the baby comes. That’s why I’m working my arse off. But that’s done now. I’m on leave.”

_Oh._

“I’m going to be a daddy, and I’m here.”

Her throat convulsed, emotions rising to a head inside her.

"Rose?”

“I thought…” she trailed off, feeling foolish and relieved and worried all at once. He was as patient as ever, letting her take her time to work out what she wanted to say. “I thought… it put you off.”

“Nothing could put me off.”

“It already did.“ She felt tears threatening to spill over, and could barely keep them at bay.

“It did not,” he said softly, stroking her hand. “I don’t want you any less right now than I did three weeks ago, or seven months ago, or two years ago.”

His words stunned her, and for a moment she didn’t know how to respond.

“I just don’t understand _why_ ,” she said in a small voice. "It started off so well, and then…”

He winced, paling slightly.

“According to my mum, it’s… y'know… normal.” His face blanched further at the mention of Jackie in the middle of a conversation about sex, pregnant or otherwise. “According to all the baby magazine experts, it’s not a problem. Even Martha says it’s normal, so-” Her voice trembled. “S-so what did we do wrong?”

“Rose-”

She swallowed thickly, “Am I-”

He didn’t let her finish the sentence. "Rose, no. Look at me. It wasn’t your fault. If anything, I’m the one to blame. It was on my end that things failed spectacularly.”

They’d both been so eager, Rose especially. She just hadn’t expected it to be so bloody damn uncomfortable. Getting a cramp in the middle of things had killed the mood almost instantly, and then… the unthinkable had happened.

“Performance anxiety,“ he mumbled. "Nerves. That’s all.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

“The OB thinks it might kick-start your labour,” he said. “If we…”

Apparently, semen contained prostaglandins, an essential hormone-like chemical that could help prepare the cervix for delivery. Which meant that a successful climax for him could bring Rose’s pregnancy to a successful climax as well. So to speak.

“But-” There wasn’t really a way to phrase it delicately, “You couldn’t…”

He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t that I couldn’t. You’ll recall that I could, and it was fine, up until… well, you were in pain.” Bright spots of red appeared on his cheekbones. “And that affected me. But we could, you know - er, we could try again.”

“But it was awful!” Rose said without thinking and immediately wished she hadn’t.

He rubbed his neck, wincing once more. “Yeah. Well. Doesn’t mean it’ll always be bad, though.”

“D'you think so?”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “I do.”

Rose wasn’t so sure. 

“I’m going spare,” she muttered. 

Grimacing, he said, “There’s other ways of inducing labour.“ 

"No.”

“We’re not going to have a choice, Rose. It won’t be so bad-”

“No, that’s not…”

Rose buried her face in her hands. Even now she felt a stirring deep down, his slightly open collar and messy hair taunting her as much as the warmth of his palm against her knee. A hot blush swept over her face as she mumbled, “Stupid hormones.”

Confusion filled his features.

She blurted out, “S'not strange. Martha said it’s normal. She says loads of women have have higher sex drives when they’re with child.”

“Oh.”

He paused, licked his lips, and took a deep breath, as if gathering courage. “We shouldn’t let it stop us, then.”

Rose tensed. “What?”

“We shouldn’t let one bad attempt stop us from… doing what needs to be done.”

She hesitated, and he hastily backtracked to reassure her, “We don’t have to do anything. If you’re uncomfortable with it, we won’t.”

But she wanted to, oh, she wanted to so badly. He seemed to be able to read her mind, and came closer, touching her cheek with his fingertips.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly. "Even if we don’t do anything more. I’d really like to kiss you. If that’s okay.”

Rose nodded, and felt disconcerted. She had never been asked the question before. It sounded both strange and sweet coming from him - the father of her baby. He kissed her gently, cradling her head, a tentative press of his mouth to her own. His lips were soft and coaxing, drawing a little moan from her. He chased the sound into her mouth, his tongue stroking hers, exploring.

It was a good kiss. It made her feel sexy and wanted. When they stopped for air and he pressed his forehead to hers, Rose felt some of the tension and fear ebb from her.

There was no danger, really, of anything happening to the baby, even at the size she was right now. The uterine contractions and oxytocin release normally associated with an orgasm, the OB had said, might even jump-start Rose’s uterus into action.

_We could_ , she thought, a tiny hint of excitement bubbling up inside her.

“Shall we try again?” he whispered, his breath hot against her lips. Those heavy-lidded, hopeful eyes of his were her weakness, along with his mouth and smile and hair and forearms and, oh, just about everything about him.

He was always getting her in trouble. He always would.

A tingle coursed through Rose from where his hands grazed her face all the way down to the tip of her toes.

She said, “Yes, please.”

 

* * *

 

It didn’t work.

But it didn’t work _very well._

“Practice makes perfect,” he said smugly, looking very much like the cat who got the canary, and the cream, and four cans of tuna to boot.

“Mmm,” said Rose blissfully, clutching the open front of his shirt. He’d been in too much of a hurry to remove all his clothing, just the necessary bits. His trousers were on the floor, though, and so was her dress.

“That was good, wasn’t it? Research always pays off, Rose. And let me tell you, I have done a lot of research, loads and loads.”

“Research is good,” she agreed, snuggling into his chest.

“There’s other ways,” he continued blithely, playing with her hair. “Other positions. Perfectly safe and perfectly good.”

“I can’t wait.”

He grinned, and then sat up suddenly. “Blimey! I forgot!” He bent over her stomach and peered at it. “Any contractions?”

“No,” she sighed. “Still nothing.”

He slumped back against the pillows. “Well. There’s always next time.”

He kissed her forehead and pulled away. Rose felt bereft until she realised he’d only done so in order to take his shirt off properly. He slipped under the covers with her and wrapped his arm around her belly, lacing his fingers with hers. The baby moved inside her, albeit not in a ‘I’m-coming-out!’ sort of way, unfortunately.

Quite suddenly, it became obvious to Rose that it wasn’t enough, this. It wasn’t quite what she really wanted - what she’d wanted for some time now.

When he tried to slip out of bed again, Rose held on, burying her face into his neck.

“Stay,” she said.

“I’m just going to use the loo,” he soothed.

“No,” said Rose, because he still didn’t get it. _“Stay.”_

There was a pause, and then his breath hitched. “Rose? Are you saying-?”

She repeated it for the third time, and finally he understood.

 

* * *

 

He moved in that very same day.

Home was where she was, even if it was small and twice as far from work and had central air that was faulty at the best of times. He would have to put most of his stuff in storage, which was fine, but he insisted on bringing his bed over to replace hers. The persuasive argument that won her over was his pointing out that her existing bed would accommodate approximately 70% of him fully stretched out and besides, his had a headboard that made the most satisfying sound when it hit the wall.

(She smacked him lightly on the chest for that last bit. But when they finally got the bloody thing into her cramped quarters, she allowed him to demonstrate and agreed that the acoustics in the tiny room made it extra pleasing to the ears.)

Still, the baby held out - but it wasn’t so bad.

Very, very late-term pregnancy was not without its perks. He got home the following night and had barely set down his coat and keys before a very lovely, very pregnant blonde threw herself at him and demanded he take her straight to the bedroom.

“God,” she said, later, rolling over in the middle of the night and grabbing him, “This is crazy.”

“Uh huh,” was all he managed to say, before his ability to say stuff was neutralised by several of Rose’s assets, made even more tantalising by her current state. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this.

(It must be karma, rewarding him for all those years it had held out on him.)


End file.
